Sometimes, I look at clothing I loved on someone in the past and find that with the passage of time, I no longer love it; other times, I look at old posts and think that I was way too harsh and that whatever the person is wearing is totally fine. Sometimes I’ve even grown to love it — like it’s the old poor-but-aristocratic-with-a-stately-pile British man whom my mother has forced me, the rich young American heiress to a soap flake fortune in 1910, to wed. And sometimes I look at it and think, “bingo.” This is what I wrote about this shirt, one year ago today:
I feel like I could tell you that this photo was snapped as Yara was in the middle of trying on a VERY complicated red carpet look, but hadn’t gotten to taking off her regular jeans to put on the bottom yet, and you would totally believe me. Except for the fact that she’s on a New York sidewalk. That’s where it all falls apart.
I’m at bingo.